


Where enough is not the same (it was before)

by dwarrowkings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwarrowkings/pseuds/dwarrowkings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Uhm,” Stiles mumbles, “maybe I should go,” and starts backing towards the door, but in a flash Peter is out of his chair and pushing him up against the closed door. His thigh pushes up between Stiles’s legs and oh god. He turns his face to the side, baring his neck to Peter, thinking <em>kill me quick</em> and Peter scrapes his teeth along his neck, but doesn’t rip his throat out. He pins Stiles’s hands up, against the door, bracing Stiles’s suddenly limp body.<br/>Now with bonus porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Emily is an enabler. A fic enabler. Wherein we complained a lot about how there weren't many consensual Peter x Stiles fics and I accidentally wrote some in response to her.  
> Title from Poets of the Fall's song "Carnival of Rust."

Stiles finds the blog by accident, tucked away in a hidden corner of the interet protected by passwords (that Stiles totally guesses, how is ‘luna’ even a good password) and it is the single greatest source of information about what the hell is going on with Scott that it might as well have been written as a how-to guide on how to deal with the newly wolf-inated. Maybe it is, and Stiles is just that good. He makes an account, and follows the blog. 

It ends up with him sending an ask to the mod, (it’s totally a collab blog, he can tell) asking if there are any non-violent ways to secure your newly furred best friend, and the guy replies using his personal account (which has sparkles on it, oh my god, this guy is super fabulous) and says that his friend needs to find an anchor, with the emphasis on ‘friend’ like Stiles is actually the person having the problem. 

He spends a couple of minutes dicking around in photoshop making the guy a thank you pic, when Scott, for once, doesn’t try to dismember him on the full moon, and the guy totally freaks out. 

He says his name is Peter and he really really likes Stiles’s graphics, and can he commission Stiles to make more? Like, a background image dark enough to let his text posts show, but light enough that it doesn’t freak people out and he’ll totally pay Stiles in advice on _any subject he wants, seriously_. And that’s how Stiles befriends a werewolf on the internet.

It doesn’t occur to him until later that there can be only so many werewolves named Peter and that he’s never told Peter his name when he hears Derek talk about his uncle, who was in a coma, and they’re looking for an alpha.

He makes Peter a set of reaction gifs in return for information about Alphas, and that clinches it. Peter is the one who bit Scott, and it is shocking that someone this eloquent and intelligent and awesome hasn’t figured out what the fuck his beta is up to.

He tells Peter his name is Stiles, and asks if they can meet.

Peter tells him that might not be possible or well-advised. Pack politics and all that.

Stiles snorts when he reads that, but goes to visit Melissa in the hospital with takeout Italian, and she likes him so much, she tells him where Peter is.

He goes up to visit, and seriously, this guy is supposed to be in a coma, and he’s running a freaking werewolf advice blog. 

He walks in the room, and says “You can’t tell me I’m not in your pack,” he says, when Peter looks at him warily. “As I’ve basically been telling your beta how to be a werewolf based on your advice for the past two months.”

Peter’s eyes widen, and Stiles continues, “Also, you’re very sweet for someone going around on a murder spree, which tells me that it’s not random, and you don’t like killing random civilians for nothing. There’s a pattern, and it has to do with the Hale fire right?” 

Peter’s mouth is open, like he’s about to say something, but can’t. “I like your blog,” Stiles blurts, like it’s not obvious, like he hasn’t been talking about it to everyone he knows who knows about werewolves (okay, Scott) since he found it. 

Peter’s mouth curves knowingly, and his teeth aren’t too sharp, but Stiles sees where they could be, wants to see it, and maybe it’s dangerous, but so was coming here and that didn’t stop him. 

“I like your graphics,” Peter says, and Stiles blushes. It’s always nice to feel validation. “You have such a gorgeous blush,” Peter says, and Stiles is probably supposed to think that this is creepy and wrong and that he should be screaming for the nurse, but he stands there, flushed and hot, and getting more turned on by the look in Peter’s eyes by the second and he knows that Peter can smell it, only makes it hotter. He bites his bottom lip, not trying for anything except to get some of the nervous energy out of his system, thinking maybe the pain will calm him down, but it doesn’t, and it makes Peter’s eyes flash red and his teeth go sharp and too many for a human mouth and Stiles can’t help the way his stomach drops out with desire. 

“Uhm,” Stiles mumbles, “maybe I should go,” and starts backing towards the door, but in a flash Peter is out of his chair and pushing him up against the closed door. His thigh pushes up between Stiles’s legs and oh god. He turns his face to the side, baring his neck to Peter, thinking _kill me quick_ and Peter scrapes his teeth along his neck, but doesn’t rip his throat out. He pins Stiles’s hands up, against the door, bracing Stiles’s suddenly limp body. 

“That’s right, Stiles, submit to your Alpha,” and Stiles thinks that he can’t take it, Peter is so hot, and he’s basically been fangirling over him for weeks now, and he’s all up in Stiles’s space, hot and pressing down and scraping where Stiles needs it most. 

“Peter, I can’t,” Stiles cants his hips up, trying to get more friction that doesn’t crush his dick. 

“You can,” Peter breathes in Stiles’s ear. Peter’s tongue flickers out, tracing the shell, and down, along the line of his neck. He drags his not-entirely-human teeth across Stiles’s collarbone and Stiles gasps and bucks up into Peter’s heat all along his front.

“Come for me,” Peter says, his voice much deeper than before, and less human. Stiles whimpers and _does_. When his head stops spinning, he feels more than sees Peter’s nostrils flare, breathing in deep, long pulls of air right against Stiles’s sweat slick throat.

Stiles thinks he should be awkward or something, but he’s still boneless and pressed up against the wall, Peter holding his weight, for all they’re the same height. Peter shifts, and Stiles can feel where he’s hard through the stupid hospital gown. Stiles licks his lips, because he _wants_ but Peter says “Not yet,” and it’s not a no, it’s a later. 

Peter kisses him then, stubble scraping along his chin. He tastes so good, which seems so wrong, given that he’s supposed to be a vegetable, and he’s _killing people_ but Stiles opens his mouth when Peter flicks his tongue along where Stiles’s mouth isn’t quite closed and lets Peter taste and take and Stiles gives and maybe takes a little too. Peter makes a sound, Stiles doesn’t know how to classify it, when Stiles bites at Peter’s bottom lip, and his eyes flash red, but they’re not angry.

The look on Peter’s face is considering, more than it had been before. 

“Next time,” Peter starts, and Stiles’s heart starts beating double, triple time and Peter smiles. “Next time,” Peter lowers his voice, letting it sound wrecked and dirty, “we won’t be in a hospital and you’ll give me whatever I want.”

“Yes,” Stiles says, thinking that he should have reservations about this, but he doesn’t. He trusts Peter, as weird as it is, because he’d answered his questions when Stiles had been looking for answers, and Peter didn’t have to. 

Peter sucks a mark onto the meat of his shoulder, biting at it hard, but not enough to break the skin. “ _Pack_ ,” he says, and lets Stiles go.

He holds the word close to his chest as he drives home, come drying awkwardly in his boxers the whole way there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Peter,” Stiles half whines, choked and broken. There are tears on his face, not because it hurts, but because it feels so good, but not good enough, and the only thought that Stiles has is that _Peter could make it better_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooops, I wrote actual porn for this verse. Not even sorry about it.

They still communicate primarily through the website, because Peter is still, ostensibly, a vegetable, and, well. The less that Stiles knows about his revenge murder spree, the better for everyone involved.

Which is why it’s embarrassing when Peter shows up in his room in the middle of Stiles bending his wrist in the most awkward way imaginable to get the dildo _deeper, goddamnit_. It’s good and it feels weird and it’s almost enough but it isn’t, and he’s so frustrated he could cry with it. He makes a broken noise and something shifts in the room. Stiles opens his eyes, and Peter is looking at him like the big bad wolf, ready to eat him up.

“Peter,” Stiles half whines, choked and broken. There are tears on his face, not because it hurts, but because it feels so good, but not good enough, and the only thought that Stiles has is that _Peter could make it better_.

Peter doesn’t touch him immediately, and Stiles sees the way he’s digging his claws into his own palms so he doesn’t claw Stiles. Stiles’s whole body clenches down on that though, and he almost shouts with how fucking good the shift felt.

“Peter, please I need--” but he doesn’t get to finish the thought because Peter is touching him, human fingertips skirting up the back of his calves where they’e spread, feet pressed down on the bed, heels digging in, trying to get some traction in. One of his hands is fisted in the sheets, and he can feel the fabric stretch and warp with the way he’s trying to hold on.

Peter kisses him, sweetly on the inside of his left knee, and then starts biting his way up Stiles’s thigh. He jerks at the first one, his whole body trying to get away and push up into it at the same time. Peter huffs a laugh into the skin, and he grabs Stiles’s wrist and places his hand on Peter’s head. Stiles tightens his fingers lightly, a question, and Peter smiles at him, his lips catching on the skin of his thigh. “Good boy,” he mumbles there, and Stiles wants the words to sink into his skin, to mark him permanently.

He doesn’t say anything about how his fingers are kind of gross from the lube, but he figures Peter knows and just doesn’t care. Peter nips his way up Stiles’s thigh, biting lightly and then digging in his human teeth and it hurts and it feels good and Stiles doesn’t know what to do about it, so he holds onto Peter’s hair. He doesn’t know how, but  he’s somehow managed to hike his thigh up, and his muscles are protesting, but he doesn’t care. Peter’s teeth are making him quiver and jerk, and his skin is burning.

“Peter,” Stiles chokes out, the word catching in the back of his throat, “please.” He doesn’t know how to ask for it, but he wants it, he wants Peter to hold him down and fuck him until he’s boneless. He’s hungry for the way it feels, and his mind thinks _cockslut_ hysterically, and his cock twitches. _Oh._

Peter gives his thigh one final bite, so high up it is actually in the crease of where his thigh meets his pelvis, and instead of moving his head away, he licks a stripe from the bite up the crease of his thigh. Stiles thinks it can't be that great, just sweat and maybe lube, but Peter makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat Stiles wonders, for the first time, what Peter's hands are doing, and he realizes that one is in the crook of his knee, pinning it up and open and vulnerable. His other hand is now stroking the sensitive skin stretched around the dildo. His fingers are gentle, catching in drying lube and not quite slip-sliding the way that Stiles's had. It's good, better.

“I thought about you like this,” Peter says, mumbling into the skin of Stiles's hip. “Open and begging and sweet,” his voice is scratchy, like he's been yelling, but Stiles knows he hasn't. It's just been them, and the sound of Stiles gasping and pleading and, yes, begging. “I knew you wanted it, could tell that first day, how you came when I asked, and begged for it then, such a dirty little thing. But I didn't know you wanted it badly enough,” Peter continues, his facial hair scraping along the sensitive skin of his thigh, “to do this.” He grabs the toy then, pulling it out a little, and then pressing it back in, watching the way Stiles takes it up close. “Tell me,” Peter whispers, eyes sparkling when Stiles tries to look at him. He looks vaguely like the neighbor guy from _Home Improvement_ except for instead of a fence obscuring half his face, it's Stiles's own body.

“I wanted it to be you,” Stiles sighs, shifting his hips up, unconsciously asking for friction. “Wanted you to _fuck_ ” Peter moves the toy again, “me,” Stiles chokes out. “Though about it too,” he confesses, “wanted your cock in my mouth,” another thrust with the toy. “Never had one in my mouth before, but I wanted to, _shit_ ” he breaks off when Peter pushes in rather viciously “wanted to choke on your dick. Never though about it before I saw you, and I was ready to fall onto my knees right there.”

“Mmm” Peter hums, pulling the toy all the way out. Stiles feels weird and empty and wet. Peter pushes the head of the toy back in, and Stiles jerks because it wasn't this good when he did it, but then, Peter wasn't breathing on his skin.

“Peter,” Stiles whimpers out, begging, “Peter please.”

“What do you want?” Peter asks, and Stiles almost cries, because Peter knows, it's obvious, but he's going to make Stiles say it. He's making sure that Stiles knows what he wants, knows how to ask for it, is comfortable asking for it.

“Fuck me, Peter. Stop teasing me. If you'd wanted to be sure you weren't forcing me, you should have asked before you touched me, before you _snuck in my room while I was jerking off_. You get off on the vaguely rapey vibe, I see that, but we both know,” Stiles pauses, just to make sure that Peter is paying attention, “that I want this just as much as you do. Now, take off your clothes, you creep and _fuck me_." Peters eyes flash red, probably because Stiles is ordering him around, but he takes off his clothes. He never took off his leather jacket – and what is it, some creeper code that you have to wear leather jackets and stalk people? But he takes off his clothes. He's not particularly cut, not anything like Derek, but he's sturdy and solid, and Stiles likes this more. He's not quite so self-conscious like this. Peter's cock is big, and Stiles's brain goes off line for a second, and when he comes back, Peter is chuckling at him. Did he say something stupid? Oh god. He untangles his fingers from the sheet, they're stiff and they hurt, but he pushes them into his face anyway.

“Not today,” Peter says, which could mean anything, but could also mean that he did actually ask Peter if he was going to knot him. Stiles is going to die before Peter even gets to the actual part where he fucks Stiles, and Stiles is going to _beg for death_ just so the embarrassment will go away.

Peter crawls up Stiles's body, a comforting weight that burns into his skin. The bed dips, and the dildo hits Stiles in the thigh and _seriously?_ that was in Stiles's ass, that's unsanitary, but Peter kisses the scrunched up look off his face. Stiles's fingers are still in Peter's hair, or one hand is, and he tightens his fingers in it, clinging to the kiss. His other hand slides up Peter's side, angling for leverage, to get closer to Peter.

Peter's forearm is braced on the outside of Stiles's arm, his hand curling over Stiles's shoulder, pressing at the fading bruise. Stiles gasps, and pushes himself up into Peter's body. His other hand is pushing Stiles's thighs open again, and Stiles pushes his hand down, fisting around Peter's dick, and trying to force him to get on with it.

“C'mon,” he whines, shifting his hips, “please,” and his voice sounds high and tight and almost unrecognizeable, but Peter seems to like it.

He moves his hands, pulling Stiles's hips up, his knees falling around Peter's hips and his ass up and and. Nothing happens.

“What now?” Stiles aks, frustrated. Peter is looking at him like he's mentally deficient.

“You're not going to ask for a condom?” Peter asks, “I thought all teenagers were taught to practice safe sex.” Peter looks vaguely disapproving.

“I figure you can't carry diseases, because your wolf would just reject it, and you probably haven't had that many partners, because wolves are serial monogamists. That and you probably haven't gotten any in the past, oh, six years, because _hospital_ and I just.” Stiles cuts off with a blush and looks away.

“What,” Peter asks, his voice gentle, like he knows the answer, but is only going to nudge Stiles towards it.

“I want to feel it,” Stiles whispers, hating the way his face burns, the way that Peter affects him. It was all well and good when Peter wasn't about to push his dick into him, but now, it seems like a huge thing, a step that Stiles wants, _god he wants_ but what if it's not what Peter wants, or it's wrong, or something goes wrong and Stiles ends up pregnant. Peter looks down at him, his eyes soft like he can read his mind.

“Shh,” Peter shushes him. “Calm down, it's okay. Whatever you want. I'll do whatever you need. It's okay. I just thought, you know, you might want to be safer. But it's okay,” he tips Stiles's chin up and kisses him. “It's good to know what you want, but it's okay if you're not ready for it yet.”

“No, I...” Stiles starts, sighing. “I want it, I just... I want it to be good. For you.” Stiles is blushing again, and this is stupid. He's such a silly virgin, thinking one not-even handjob in a hospital makes him some kind of sex kitten.

“Stop that right now,” Peter says, harsh, “You were doing fine before, when you were begging for my cock. If you're going to feel that ashamed for this, for anything, I'm going to put my clothes on and walk away right now. Being embarrassed about what you want is perfectly fine, as long as you're into it, but this. This is you and me, and I want you, and you want me.” Peter bites his shoulder again, and Stiles feels his dick twitch.

“That's good,” he says, worrying the skin with his teeth. He grabs for the lube, still open on the table beside Stiles's bed. He slicks his cock, and bites a new hickey into the side of Stiles's throat.

Stiles shifts his hips up, feels Peter's lube-slick fingers pet him, smearing lube over his hole.

Peter is good like this, urging Stiles gently back upto where he was before, begging and thrashing for him to fuck him already. It doesn't take long, because Stiles is apparently easy, but he's easy for Peter, and maybe that's okay.

“Now,” he gasps, it's starting to feel too good again, and he wants to feel it before he's lost in it. He wants to know what it feels like, to be fucked by Peter.

“No,” Peter says, grabbing Stiles's dick and pulling.

“Wait, wait, but I'll come if you don't---” And Peter kisses him silent, still pulling on Stiles's dick.

“I want you to feel it,” he says, “but you need to be relaxed first. This is the easiest way. It'll be so good, I promise.” He twists his hand around Stiles's dick, and his other hand is on Stiles's balls, stroking, and he's mouthing at the bruise on his shoulder and it's over.

Well, it's not over, but Stiles comes. It feels like the top of his head flies off and goes spinning around the room. Peter slicks his cock one last time, _and that is Stiles's come, dear jesus christ_ and pushes into Stiles.

Stiles is grateful, then, that his body is high on endorphins, because the toy had been medium sized, and it'd felt huge. Peter is bigger than the toy, and the burn would probably hurt if he were capable of feeling anything other than _good_. And Stiles is floating, and Peter is fucking him, and god it feels good, so good, and he isn't sure if it's because it feels objectively good or because he's still kind of post-orgasmic feel-good, but he doesn't care.

Peter's thrusts are steady, and he's biting his lip like he is holding back, and Stiles reaches up to pull him into a kiss. It's dirty and filthy and messy wet, because Stiles doesn't care what he looks like and Peter is uncoordinated like it's taking all his concentration to be steady and Stiles licks in his mouth while Peter whimpers.

“Let go,” Stiles says, fucked out and everything is perfect right now. “C'mon,” He goads, “fuck me.” Peter's hips snap forward so quickly that it pushes Stiles up the bed a little. Something sparks in Stiles's spine, and it's staring to feel better, rather than just good. It's like it was before, good good, but not good enough. He can't come again yet, but it's okay because he likes this feeling, Peter's cock filling him up and bumping his prostate and sending jolts along his body.

He wraps his hands around the back of Peter's neck and bites at the tendon in Peter's neck. Peter's hips do that unconscious jerking again, and Stiles revels in it, fucked out and happy. He does it again, and mumbles right up agianst Peter's ear “Are you gonna come for me?” the opposite of what Peter'd done that first time, asking and not demanding, but Peter's dick twitches and hardens and _oh,_ that feels good, and Peter comes.

Peter's arms don't give out, because he's got super werewolf strength or whatever, but Stiles flops back on his bed, boneless and happy.

Peter seems to need a minute before he unlocks his arms, and Stiles lets him be quiet. He pulls out carefully, but it's still awkward. He isn't regretting his decision for no condoms yet, and he probably won't until he has to wash his sheets or he gets pregnant.

When Peter is pressed all along Stiles's side, nosing at his temple, legs tangled together, Stiles says “Thank you, for you know, before.” Hoping Peter knows what he means.

“Stiles,” he says, and his voice sounds so fond that it feels like there's something trying to escape Stiles's throat. Maybe it's his heart. “It's okay if you want something, or if you don't. All you have to do is say something.”

Stiles chuckles, “Believe me, I shouldn't have a problem with that again. You'll probably never get me to shut up again.”

Peter smiles, and it's almost like he's happy that he'll have to deal with Stiles's mouth for the immediate future. Maybe he is.


End file.
